


put me down

by ninemoons42



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Consensual Kink, Disobeying Orders, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fantasizing, Forced to Kneel, Kneeling, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Obedience, Oral Sex, Research, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is normally happy to follow Erik's orders in and out of bed, but it's been a very bad day, and he's been caught entirely off guard by what he overhears.</p><p>[No archive warnings apply to this fic, but please mind the tags.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	put me down

title: put me down  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)**ninemoons42**  
word count: approx. 1540  
fandom: X-Men: First Class  
characters: Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, Emma Frost, Hank McCoy  
rating: NC-17 for sex and exploration of kinks  
notes: Okay, this is [Afrocurl's](http://rozf.tumblr.com) fault, and we will leave it entirely at that. All thanks go to her.

  
Charles stumbled out of the little room with the Cerebra device, took one look at Hank’s pinched face and Emma’s upturned eyebrow, and thought, _You are not getting me back in there again - what’d you do with it last night?_

“Nothing,” Hank said, but he was wringing his hands and that was already more than enough to give the lie to his words. “I tried to rewire some sections of the amplifier segment...?”

_It feels like there is a herd of space monkeys running wild in my brain, Hank._

_You need brain bleach,_ was Emma’s comment.

 _Tell me about it,_ Charles said, and then somehow he was pushing past their hands, their offers of help, and staggering out the door.

There was no way he could make it back upstairs to his office, where he could catch his breath in surroundings that he had explicitly arranged to be a safe space. Books and a handful of pillar candles, his iPod with soothing white noise and a playlist that Erik had programmed into it for him for when he needed to blank out the world.

He was going to have to settle for someplace else - and after the rough time he’d had he was going to have to settle for just any place where he could lock the door and turn his senses off for a while.

He jiggled doorknobs as he passed and finally found an unlocked room: one of the even tinier testing cubicles. The silence inside was profound, pressing on his ears and on his brain: one of the shielded rooms for telepaths, then. That had to be a good thing. He could actually break through the psionic barriers in this room but he was glad for their presence now, because that meant he could just _be_ for a few moments.

He rubbed at his throbbing temples and cursed Cerebra up and down. Every time someone mucked around with the wiring on the damn thing it always felt like he was going to get his own mind scoured raw, and it was always an experience that required either medication or sex or alcohol or all of the above.

Except that Erik was away on a business trip, and had left Charles very explicit instructions. He wasn’t going to be able to get off, at least not until the man got back from wherever in the world he was at this point.

He’d complain about Erik being missing if he only had the actual ability to string two thoughts together.

His flask was empty - he’d forgotten to refill it after last night, _damn_ \- and he didn’t trust himself around the good stuff in the psychology labs, so he was going to have to settle with quiet. Charles sat down in the corner of the room farthest from the door, heedless of his wrinkled trousers, and tried to run through one of his relaxation routines: _White sand, waves lapping at his ankles, the blue sea meeting the blue sky, a nearly invisible horizon -_

There was a soft click from very close by - he felt it in his skin - the room next door. Voices: a man and a woman. Quiet laughter.

The unmistakable sound of people kissing.

 _Oh god no,_ Charles thought.

No shields, no control, no _Erik_.

Trembling from head to foot, caught completely by surprise, Charles got shakily to his feet and tried to walk toward the door, only to hear a dangerously familiar _pop_ , wet and sweet.

His overactive imagination supplied the rest: the woman on her knees, her hand on her companion’s cock. The kittenish smile crinkling up the lines in her face. Lipstick stains on previously pristine underwear. Tongue smoothing over heated skin.

 _Erik,_ Charles thought helplessly, looking up at the ceiling. Surely his thoughts would have breached the shields by now, streaking down a shivering, tenuous link. _Why aren’t you here, Erik?_

More laughter from next door, more sounds that were all too easy to translate. Charles thought about the couple, about the frantic pace of their heartbeats, about the snap of their bodies: were they up against the wall, the woman happily hemmed in by her partner’s body? Were they on the floor? And if so, who was on top?

He loved it when Erik pinned him down, and he loved it when he was made to ride Erik. On their sides, sitting or standing; Charles kneeling or Charles hogtied or Charles on his hands and knees.

His nerves were raw and there was no answer forthcoming from Erik.

Charles clenched his fists, dug into his palms with his nails - but even that pain made him think of clamps on his nipples, of Erik’s teeth scraping over his throat and his wrist and the back of his knee, and he was so needy now, orders or no orders -

 _Erik,_ he tried again, one last plea, and then he was all but yanking his own trousers out of the way. Hands shaking as he began to stroke off, knowing even as he cursed himself that he was doing it to the rhythm of the woman’s gasped breaths, the thrust and roll of the man’s hips.

Sudden blast of oblivion, the brief second of thoughts coming undone and rolling away as he came all over his hand.

*

Erik was waiting for him at home.

“Buenos Aires was a bust,” was as far as Charles heard.

“I - today - ” _I like it when you give me rules and I like it when you challenge me but today I couldn’t,_ he thought, desperately. He felt like knocking on the door that stood between his mind and Erik’s, needing to explain: _Bad day in the labs, thoughts gouged out, Cerebra mucking around with my head. Wanted to be quiet. Wanted to calm my mind. Wanted to think about you and me and breakfast and walking on the beach._

He could see the mix of concern and sympathy and _something else_ in Erik’s face, in Erik’s thoughts - something else that was darker and sweeter and stranger - and tried to push across the rest of it in one hot rush: overhearing people having sex, barely able to shield against _lust_ and _kissing_ and _entwined_ \- _I broke that rule you gave me -_

He didn’t know what he was expecting; Erik rolling his eyes and giving him a mock-stern lecture, maybe, or disappointment or more rules - what he wasn’t expecting was Erik cocking his head, Erik looking sympathetic.

“You didn’t mean to break the rules.” Erik sounded kind - he was _smiling_ , a little subdued, but smiling all the same.

“I really didn’t want to - I just couldn’t help myself,” Charles said.

“Okay,” Erik said, and he closed the distance between them, pulled Charles in close: one arm around his waist, the other draped partway around Charles’s shoulder.

Erik’s hand on the back of Charles’s neck.

“Come on,” Erik said, and there was a familiar pressure in Charles’s mind: Erik’s quiet way of telling him to follow.

“I should apologize,” Charles began.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Erik said. “Bad timing. Bad set of circumstances. Not your fault.” _I should have been there for you._

“It’s not your fault either!”

Erik nodded. “No one is at fault.”

Silence, and then: “Get down on your knees, Charles. Quietly. Quickly.”

Charles looked at Erik, wide-eyed, startled. _I can talk to you like this?_

_Yes._

_Am I being punished -_

“No. Get that out of your mind. I’m looking after you.” _Down, Charles, unless you’d like me to put you down?_

_I - yes. Please?_

The smile was startling, and warm, for all that it was brief; it made the sudden steel in Erik’s voice all the more surprising. “DOWN. Don’t make me say it a third time.”

Charles caught his breath and did as he was told, and looked up at Erik’s frown - at the pleased light in those gray eyes. _Am I doing it right?_

_You are._

When Erik glanced at the chest of drawers next to the bed Charles could _feel_ the intent in his thoughts. _I’m going to cut off your clothes, all right._

It was all Charles could do not to laugh. _Yes, please._

It was so easy to fall when Erik was looking at him, sweet and hot and wanting, even as he yanked at a knife with his ability. As that knife cut through Charles’s clothes, bare whisper of the point over his skin - never to hurt, only to make him _feel_.

“Erik,” he said, softly, helplessly. “Erik, please.”

“I’m going to make it good, Charles.”

He gave himself over, closed his eyes, emptied his mind.

Erik made it possible, made it good, and he took it all in, because this way he could wait.  



End file.
